


if at first you don't succeed

by princessoftheworlds



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, First Dates, M/M, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:27:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24872275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princessoftheworlds/pseuds/princessoftheworlds
Summary: It’s been about three weeks since Jack’s offer in the office, and somehow “dinner and a movie” has morphed into a promise, a plan that keeps dancing between Jack and Ianto that never truly manifests.or: Jack and Ianto try to go on their first date, and Torchwood gets in the way.
Relationships: Jack Harkness/Ianto Jones
Comments: 8
Kudos: 78





	if at first you don't succeed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blipintiime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blipintiime/gifts).



> HAPPY BIRTHDAY JACKLYNN! YOU DESERVE THE WORLD!
> 
> Your first prompt was Ianto and Jack on five failed dates and their one successful one, but you then asked for Ianto fucking Jack over his desk after reading that one chapter of fool me once, fool me twice.
> 
> I tried to give you both! I hope you enjoy it! (Sorry for the extortion.)
> 
> Also, in general, this fic features one of my favorite paragraphs that I've written recently. Try to guess what it is and you may win the amazing price of my appreciation and gratitude!

It’s been about three weeks since Jack’s offer in the office, and somehow “dinner and a movie” has morphed into a promise, a plan that keeps dancing between Jack and Ianto that never truly manifests. 

Finally, after everything that happens with Rhys and the space whale, Jack thinks it’s time. The next morning, when the cog wheel of the Hub’s entrance rolls to allow entry to Ianto, fresh and neat after a rare night in his own bed, Jack creeps down to the little kitchenette where Ianto is fiddling with the coffee machine and wraps an arm around the other man. He angles Ianto slightly in his embrace to be able to litter swift kisses along his neck and jawline and, eventually, his mouth until, blushing, Ianto shoves him off.

“I have to make coffee, Jack,” he insists. “I know you want a cup, and as soon as Owen shuffles in, he will whinge until he gets his.”

Jack hums, not entirely listening, too preoccupied with tracing his lips across the delectably sharp edges of Ianto’s cheekbones. “I’ve got a proposal for you.” And he knows that despite the way Ianto’s hands move, stretching to grasp Jack’s blue-and-white striped mug and his own plain maroon one from the cupboard, that Ianto’s listening. “You, me, La Papillon. Tonight at eight.”

“Do I not get a say?” asks Ianto wryly.

“Would you say no?”

“No.”

They engage in a bit of light snogging that eventually ends in the mugs of coffee abandoned on the counter, Ianto’s arse perched against the sink, his legs wrapped around Jack’s waist, and both their hair dishevelled, before the loud cranking sound of the cog door rolling aside splits the Hub’s silence, the red entrance lights flashing. They break apart.

“I’ll see you then,” Jack whispers, pressing a soft kiss next to Ianto’s lips. He grabs his coffee and leaves Ianto blushing.

* * *

Jack shows up at the door to Ianto’s flat with a bouquet of bright roses, dressed in a sharp yet old-fashioned grey suit with a blue shirt and matching tie. He even has polished dress shoes, though he didn’t leave his greatcoat and Webley at home. Oddly enough, Ianto’s less surprised by the ensemble than by the roses.

“So I’m not even going to get a compliment?” calls Jack, gaping at Ianto’s back. He’s still standing in the doorframe where he’d originally greeted Ianto with an appreciative glance at the other man’s black suit and purple shirt combo, followed by an enthusiastic kiss. 

“Please,” replies Ianto as he carefully places the bouquet in an empty bottle of Scotch that Jack had once left behind. “You always look like you’ve stepped off a centerfold. No one’s given me roses before. Let me enjoy this moment.”

He locks his flat behind him, dropping his keys and phone and wallet in the pocket of his own grey coat. He steps besides Jack as they proceed down the hallway, shoulders brushing but not too close. They look like two men going to a business meeting rather than on a date. (In the future, in moments like these, Jack will slowly reach down to grasp Ianto’s hand, and Ianto will tangle their fingers together. They will be happy and in love.)

Upon Ianto’s insistence, they take his Audi to La Papillon where he parks carefully. They stroll to the entrance together where Jack tells the maitre de, “Captain Jack Harkness. We have a table in the back. Claude will be expecting me.” He flashes her a charming wink.

“Who’s Claude?” Ianto questions as they are led to the back patio, to a private corner strung with studded lights. A nice view of the Plass spreads out on one side and the bay glitters from the other, although they are separated from the Plass by a low fence. He sits in the seat that Jack pulls back for him, raising an eyebrow.

“I have manners,” Jack replies to the eyebrow. “And Claude is a very friendly Bakarian who was flung through the Rift fifty-something odd years ago. I helped him out and sent him to France. He came back wanting to open a restaurant.”

“And that’s why you wanted to help the space whale,” surmises Ianto.

Jack shrugs helplessly. “Some of the aliens who come through the Rift, it’s not their faults. If we can’t help them return, we can at least…” Ianto offers an understanding nod; he already knows about Flat Holm.

Their waiter comes by, smiling widely, although that smile becomes more genuine when his eyes land on Jack. “What can I get for you, gentlemen?”

Ianto orders duck confit while Jack reads off the Frenchiest name he can of the menu, somehow pronouncing it perfectly. 

“And a bottle of your finest wine,” Jack says, to finish off their order.

As the waiter leaves, Ianto shifts in his seat in an attempt to become more comfortable. Jack stares back at him, lips twitching. The silence passes them by, becoming more and more strained by the minute.

“Did you manage to get the archives organized?” offers Jack. “I know that was something you were working on.”

“What is this, Jack?” Ianto asks, but he doesn’t sound confrontational. Just tired.

Jack’s brow furrows. “Dinner and a movie? Ring any bells. This is dinner, and well, for the movie, I thought we could go back to yours…”

“That’s it?” Ianto’s expression is open and hopeful but not pleading. 

“That’s it.”

The other man’s lips curl into a loose smile. “In that case, I have my copy of  _ Goldfinger  _ that we never finished watching.”

“You and your James Bond.” Jack smirks, the oddness of the last few minutes lifting.

The conversation flows much more smoothly from there. They chat and joke and flirt while they wait for their food.

“And so Amorans have three tentacles,” Jack is explaining a few minutes when the waiter sets their dishes down. He quiets down briefly and nods gratefully to the waiter who also receives a quiet thanks from Ianto. Then he resumes once the waiter is gone, digging a fork into his dish: “One for reproduction, one for eating, and one for shitting. But their tentacles are not our own genitals; you can’t rim an Amoran’s tentacle for shitting. It’s a major insult.” He proceeds to tell Ianto about how he committed an Amoran sexual faux pas on the king and was nearly beheaded by the royal guard, narrowly escaping with his life.

He’s doubled over laughing, Ianto rolling his eyes and sipping at his wine, when there’s a familiar yell from the Plass. Immediately, their gazes rocket over. Tosh and Gwen are sprinting after Owen who is heading right passed the restaurant, passersby watching them in concern and confusion.

“What’s going on?” Jack calls out to Gwen, leaning over the fence.

Her eyes flicker around in bewilderment before landing on Jack and Ianto in the back patio, eyebrows rising. She doesn’t slow down. “A whole pack of Weevils several blocks away.” She hesitates. “Are the two of you coming?”

Jack and Ianto exchange glances before Ianto looks pitifully at their half-eaten food.

“Torchwood comes first,” Ianto murmurs, and Jack nods, expression sympathetic but stern.

Jack stands, slips his greatcoat on, and leaps over the fence before running after Gwen. A bit slower, Ianto follows. He smiles apologetically at the frazzled waiter. “Put it on Torchwood’s tab,” he says.

* * *

After they return to the Hub and Owen and the girls leave for home, Ianto finds Jack slumped over his desk.

“Well, that went well,” Jack says tiredly, head tucked into the fold of his elbow, voice muffled.

Ianto leans against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. He’s stripped down to just his purple shirt now, his suit jacket and waistcoat wrecked with blood and Weevil guts. “Four more Weevils, all with new homes. They should keep Janet company in the cells for a while.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Jack finally glances up at Ianto, eyes shadowed and full of disappointment. He sighs. “I wanted us to have a date. One nice,  _ proper  _ date without Torchwood getting in the way.”

“Jack, we are Torchwood,” says Ianto, still not entirely grasping the meaning of Jack’s words. “We can’t do anything  _ without Torchwood _ . It’s a fact we’ve accepted. What’s different now?”

“I wanted to do this right,” Jack insists. “Romance, flowers, dates, the full shebang. I wanted something nice and normal.”

“Nice and normal is overrated,” Ianto replies, striding forward until he stands before Jack, but it’s finally clicked. “You want a relationship.”

“Yeah,” says Jack softly. “I do.” They lock eyes, and something electric passes between them, some kind of current that makes Ianto’s skin rise up in gooseflesh and the back of his neck tingle.

In a flurry of movement, they lunge for each other, and then Ianto finds himself pinned against Jack’s desk being snogged thoroughly. Jack's hand is spread flat on Ianto’s chest, pushing him down as the fingers toy with the buttons of Ianto’s shirt; Jack’s other hand dives straight into Ianto’s trousers, pulling his cock out. Without breaking their liplock, Jack blindly squirts lube onto his hand from the bottle hidden in his desk and begins to stroke Ianto’s cock with a tight, firm grasp.

Ianto moans into Jack’s mouth, but after everything that happened today, his intention isn’t to be fucked by Jack, so he wiggles his own hand into Jack’s trousers to grasp at the other man’s cock, and when Jack rears back slightly in surprise, Ianto flips them over until Jack is face down on his own desk.

“ _ Oooh _ ,” Jack says happily, the lecherous grin audible in his voice. “Are you going to fuck me?” He grinds his arse against Ianto’s bare cock, causing Ianto hiss. “Because lemme tell you, I’m not complaining.”

“Shut up.” Ianto swats what little of Jack’s arse he can reach, and the other man moans exaggeratedly. Ianto rolls his eyes. Quickly, he tugs Jack’s trousers down until they droop around Jack’s ankles.

The sight of Jack’s arse is obscene, all curved muscle and soft skin but with a perfect roundness that Ianto wants to sink his teeth into and marr. When Ianto pulls Jack’s cheeks apart, Jack sighing blissfully and shoving his arse into Ianto’s hands, he reveals the tight furl of Jack’s hole. In any other circumstances, Ianto would love to spank the color red into Jack’s pale skin to contrast the muscles of his tanned back; as they’ve enthusiastically discovered, both men have a bit of a discipline kink. 

“Are you going to do anything?” Jack demands after a few minutes of Ianto just gazing at his arse.

“Not if you whinge,” retorts Ianto, voice calm and controlled despite the aching hardness of his cock. He reaches over for the lube bottle previously abandoned by Jack and squirts enough lube onto his fingers to drown a small village before teasing a finger along the sensitive rim of Jack’s hole.

Jack wriggles in frustration, trying to rear back into Ianto’s finger, but Ianto’s grip on him is solid. “Hey! I’m your boss, and I’m ordering you to  _ fuck me _ !”

“You aren’t right now, Captain,” Ianto purrs. At the same time, he brings two fingers together and quickly - but gently - slides them into Jack, curling them until they rest against his prostate. “Shut you up now, didn’t I?”

He can see the sly light in Jack’s blue eyes, can practically hear the snarky retort that he’s trying hard to think of, so he slides his fingers back and jabs them right into Jack’s prostate. Gleefully, and ignoring his  _ aching _ cock, he watches as Jack’s mouth stretches into a round expression of pleasure, his eyes widening in surprise. Having fucked Jack many times, he even knows that Jack’s toes are curling in his boots.

“Are you going to behave?” Ianto whispers into Jack’s ear, smirking as Jack nods mutely. Then Ianto sets to work, scissoring Jack open and drawing out whimpers, whines, and quiet grunts from the other man. They snog breathlessly as he slides in a third finger, his knuckles bumping against Jack’s arse, and brushes against Jack’s prostate. Jack moans into Ianto’s mouth.

When they break apart, Jack has clearly forgotten his promise of only a few minutes previous. “Fuck me, Ianto,” he chants, eyes boring pleadingly into Ianto’s own. “ _ Fuck me _ !  _ Please _ !” His last request ends in a bit of a high-pitched whine when Ianto pulls his fingers out completely.

“Condom or no condom?” asks Ianto, holding up a small foil square he fished out from Jack’s desk in his slippery fingers. He chuckles when Jack’s eyes widen unbelievably large.

“You assho-” Jack begins, but his words end in a drawn-out moan as Ianto shoves inside of him. “Oh,  _ fuck _ !”

“That’s what I aim to do,” Ianto says, thrusting his hips forward shallowly. Jack’s responding hiss is music to his ears.

Jack is tight and hot and slick - likely from all the lube - around him, and when he clenches down on Ianto’s length, his walls fluttering around him, it feels a bit like a pulse. Ianto always loves being inside Jack, loves fucking Jack, because it always feels like fucking time itself. He loves how, when he shoves inside Jack and Jack stares back at him with eyes blown so dark and wide that only a strip of blue is visible, it forces Jack’s entire focus on him; he loves how when he’s fucking Jack, Jack’s only thinking about him. Not the Doctor, not the stars, not the universe.  _ Him _ . Ordinary twenty-something Ianto Jones from Newport. 

It gives him a wicked thrill when Jack comes, head thrown back, expression slack, eyes squeezed shut, and toes curling, all with Ianto’s name on his lips. It feels even better to know that Ianto is the one that provided Jack with so much pleasure. In the moment that he comes, Jack is always present with Ianto in a way he isn’t during their other interactions.

Ianto’s favorite part about fucking Jack, however, might be when he comes inside Jack, teeth dug sharply into Jack’s shoulder. The come will drip out, and the bitemark will fade, but for the moment being, Ianto has left his mark on something timeless and undying, left his mark  _ inside  _ something timeless and undying, and the thought always sends a shiver down his spine.

“Have you fallen asleep there, Ianto?” Jack teases, nudging him gently with his boot. He bears down on Ianto’s length, clenching tightly, and Ianto hisses.

“Definitely not.” He pulls back, causing Jack to whimper at the sudden emptiness inside him, and punctuates his statement with a sudden forward shove of his hips. Judging from Jack’s sudden cry of pleasure, his cock strikes against Jack’s prostate. He sets a quick, punishing rhythm as he sloppily fucks Jack, sometimes striking his prostate again, sometimes not. His world narrows the tight sensation of Jack wrapped around him and nothing else, the ordinary noises of the Hub drowned out by fuzzy static in his ears. He can no longer hear Jack’s noises of pleasure, only feel the way he flutters around Jack.

Ianto’s balls tighten, spine stiffening, as he senses the precipice of his orgasm. With a cry of Jack’s name on his lips, he spills his release inside his lover, vaguely aware of Jack rutting against his desk. His eyes roll back into his head, and his mouth drops open.

When Ianto comes to, he finds that he’s still inside Jack, but Jack is slumped over his desk. Sticky rivulets of come drip down over the edge, indicating that at some point between the world washing away in a haze of pleasure and the present, Jack also came.

“Oh, fuck,” says Ianto and gingerly pulls out of Jack, receiving only a weak grunt in response. He watches as his own release trickles out of Jack and down one of his bare legs. His mark on something timeless and undying, thinks Ianto, his own words coming back to him, and then flushes. “C’mon, Jack. I’ve got you.”

After stripping Jack of his trousers completely, he wraps an arm around his lover, and slowly, they limp outside of Jack’s office and down to the couch on the Hub’s lower level - ever since Jack returned, he can’t stand to sleep in his bunker, and he won’t tell Ianto why, but he has terrible nightmares.

“Not showering first?” mumbles Jack tiredly. “Should clean up the mess.”

Ianto shakes his head and then chides himself for his stupidity, knowing that Jack’s head is bowed. “I’ll deal with it in the morning. We should sleep.”

They collapse together on the couch, and while Jack’s out like a light almost immediately, Ianto stays awake for a few more hours, mind at furious work.

* * *

A week later, Jack stumbles in from a late night spent on a Cardiff rooftop only to find the Hub empty, Ianto nowhere in sight. Brow furrowed, he glances up, finds flickering lights in his office, and proceeds there. 

“Took you bloody long enough,” Ianto says amusedly, glancing up at Jack from where he’s sitting cross-legged on a blanket spread out on the floor.

“What is all of this?” asks Jack in faint bewilderment. He recognizes the blanket from having been dragged from his own bed in his bunker. 

His office has been transformed, a white sheet hung along one wall, flickering with black and white images projected from a small device on Jack’s desk.

“Dinner and a movie,” Ianto tells him, like that explains everything in the world. “Dinner,” - he points to several white takeout boxes on the floor beside him - “and a movie.” He nods to the sheet.

Jack’s eyes narrow. “Is that an Pom-”

“-ason holo-projector?” presumes Ianto, nodding. “Yes, I found it in the archive.” His eyes twinkle with something akin to pride. “And I reordered our original dishes from La Papillon. Claude was thrilled to personally deliver the food.” His expression takes on a hint of hesitation when Jack takes a minute to reply. “Is this...not okay?”

“Ianto Jones,” Jack begins, watching Ianto’s smile falter, “you are a bloody genius.” He leans over to press a sweet kiss to his mouth before dropping down beside him. “What are we watching?”

Ianto’s grin grows again. “ _ Goldfinger _ .”

“Only you, Ianto Jones. Only you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr [here](http://princess-of-the-worlds.tumblr.com/) or on Twitter [here](https://twitter.com/rajkumarinik) to let me know how much you liked this fic or request a prompt. Also, please comment or drop a line below even if it's to telling me how you've been doing. I thrive on kudos and social interaction, especially in this day and age.
> 
> What did you think about Jack and Ianto's failed date? What was your favorite part? What's the weirdest date you think Jack and Ianto would ever go on? Tell me; I wanna know!


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